No one is ever going to lump The Four Seasons in with the Stones or Beatles, but when it comes to judging who had the more adventurous climb to fame, the four lads from Jersey are clearly No. 1 – with a bullet. And it’s a sure bet that projectile was fired by a mobster well-acquainted with either golden-voiced Frankie Valli or boneheaded guitarist Tommy DeVito. Both were children of the streets of Newark, and what began as a life of larceny eventually progressed into stealing the hearts of millions with a string of infectious pop songs that live on today, largely due to the Tony-winning jukebox musical, “Jersey Boys.” Geographically, it’s not such a big leap from Newark to Broadway, but when their story, along with those of fellow members Bob Gaudio and Nick Massi, makes the jump to Hollywood, it’s likely things will get lost in translation. But transversely, expect much to be gained, especially with a musically inclined director like Clint Eastwood leading the band. He’s not entirely successful, but there’s no doubt he gets everything he can from a shallow, fact-fudging script by Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice (based on their Broadway book) that hits on all the high notes but makes little attempt to get under the skin of four radically diverse individuals of varying degrees of talent.

It’s a greatest-hits pic, if you will, that smartly focuses on those unforgettably catchy tunes: “Ragdoll,” “Dawn,” “Sherry,” “Walk Like a Man,” etc. There are more than a dozen of them, and each instantly takes you to a time and place, especially if you’re old enough to remember when Cadillacs (the group’s cars of choice) still had fins. And each is sung live on film by a quartet of hugely talented actors who eerily reproduce every octave and inflection exactly like the real thing, including Valli’s “gift-from-God” falsetto. It’s provided here by John Lloyd Young, who reprises his Tony-winning role. He’s not much for hitting dramatic notes, but, boy, can he sing. And when he does sing, the movie sings right along with him.

It falters only when the music stops to eavesdrop on the petty arguments, bruised egos and romantic malfunctions that eventually put the Four Seasons on ice. And like the seasons, “Jersey Boys” can be broken down into spring, summer, autumn and winter. It begins in the former, when three still wet-behind-the-ears juvenile delinquents – Valli, DeVito (a volcanic turn by “Boardwalk Empire’s” Vincent Piazza) and Massi (Michael Lomenda) – finance their musical endeavors by knocking over warehouses and bumbling their way into state prison. Valli, then known by his real name, Francis Castelluccio, would serve as the lookout, opening up in song whenever a cop ventured near. His voice, and his youth, kept him out of jail, but not so with DeVito and Massi, both of whom became regular customers.

Page 2 of 2 - Between stretches, they somehow found time to form their band, but couldn’t catch a break, even with local mobster Gyp DeCarlo (Christopher Walken) firmly in their corner. Then their summer arrives via no less than a young Joe Pesci (yes, that Joe Pesci), who introduces Gaudio to the boys. In practically no time, their star shines brighter than the July sun, especially with Gaudio (an excellent Erich Bergen) and producer Bob Crewe (Mike Doyle, bordering on a gay stereotype) penning hit after hit. Then comes the fall, literally, as relationships begin to chill and the hits dry up. It’s capped by a bitter winter in which all implodes, professionally and personally.

Yes, it’s the typical “Behind the Music” scenario. And, yes, it’s tiresome, if not boring, especially when the film is padded out to 134 minutes. But every time you’re ready to give up on it, one of those amazing songs pops up and you’re all ears again, especially upon hearing them the way they’re meant to be heard, in clear, crisp Dolby sound. It sends chills just as frequently as Piazza generates heat as the group’s bonafide bad boy. In his capable hands, DeVito is sexy and brash, even if he’s in way over his head managing the band, including secretly gambling away thousands of its earnings. He’s fascinating, so much so, you wish the movie focused on him rather than Valli, who, Frank-ly, isn’t all that interesting.

Gaudio merits more attention, considering he not only wrote, or co-wrote, all the hits, he also was the group’s silent leader, using his smarts and upscale upbringing to take his mates to heights they never would have achieved without him. The diversity in his background compared to that of the others leaves a huge source of complexity regrettably untapped, as we’re forced to settle with little more than DeVito’s growing mix of jealousy and suspicion.

Eastwood compensates somewhat by giving the film a rich, lived-in look, with the color so washed out that it often appears as if it was shot in period-appropriate black and white. His sense of humor is equally keen, evidenced by a handful of surprisingly playful moments, particularly a scene in which the virginal Gaudio is propositioned by a groupie while watching – of all people – Eastwood on “Rawhide.” And the curtain-call finale – in which the film’s multitude of actors dances in the street accompanied by a medley of Four Season tunes – is a terrific blend of energy and choreography that puts most Broadway shows to shame. It’s a perfect send off, leaving the music touching you in a way the story seldom does.